


apartment one-oh-four

by geode



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, F/M, M/M, i keep forgetting i gave my other shakespeare gays a cameo but im not gonna apologise, otp gets a cat fic, someone ask me about rosaline i have a whole backstory, this is a mess much like its creator, this was supposed to be like 1k but it.....escalated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/pseuds/geode
Summary: Romeo finally moves out.





	apartment one-oh-four

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nerukimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerukimi/gifts).



> i finally finished this monster of a oneshot! thanks to Nerukimi for the prompt, i bet you thought id forgotten about it but nope just trying very hard not to write angst for once lolol

Benvolio feels that if his life were a TV show, and there's every possibility it _is_ in fact just that, every episode would start with him saying "But why?" and Mercutio just shrugging cheerfully: as regular as clockwork, a new amusing (Cutio's word) conflict arises once a week or so and Ben has to devote his free time from there on out to either solving the problem or acclimatising to it becoming just another aspect of his life.

 

This time, though, he's not sure which way he's going to deal with it.

 

" _Why?_ " he exclaims wearily. He'd been home for less than three seconds and was already considering going to bed, just going to bed immediately because _no_.

 

From the sofa, Mercutio shrugs, grinning. "How can you reject such beauty!" he sings, and it takes Benvolio a second to realise he probably, although by no means definitely, means the cat in his arms.

 

He decides he has the time it takes to get a glass of water before he has to address today's main story arc.

 

 

"So," he says, sitting gingerly beside Mercutio and casting his eye at last over the cat. It's grey and sleepy and looks right at home. He sips his water. "Care to explain?"

 

"There's very little to it, babe - I wanted a cat, I got a cat."

 

"A bit impulsive, isn't it?"

 

"Nothing would ever happen if we ignored our impulses." Ben opened his mouth to scoff at that monumentally douchey line, but Mercutio cuts him off. "Impulses are opportunities: they exist to show us what we want, and what we have always wanted."

 

"That principle only really works on relatively harmless impulses like buying pets."

 

"Aha! See, harmless!"

 

" _Relatively_. Couldn't you have at least warned me?"

 

Before he could process what was happening, Mercutio had dumped the cat in Benvolio's arms and it was squirming against him, softer and warmer than expected. "Surpri-ise," he sings again; obviously he's in one of his more musical moods.

 

"Don't let's pretend this was for my benefit," Ben says, even as he rearranges his arms into more of a cradle and reaches in to scratch behind its ear involuntarily.

 

"But you _will_ benefit," Mercutio replies quippily, and Benvolio files away a genuine concern for later that he might actually be in a low budget sitcom with screenwriters who think they've mastered the one liner.

 

"So is this just gonna...?" he trails off. The cat yawns delicately and he feels his will power melt. Cutio scoots over and tickles the cat's chin, an arm draped around Benvolio's shoulders, making a little unit of the three of them.

 

"Yep," he says, and then ruins the moment by starting to croon _Let It Be._

 

 

He calls it Tybalt, and Ben almost loses his shit after all.

 

"You know what, I don't even want to know what scheming you have planned with this," he announces.

 

"Me? _Scheming_?"

 

"It's more likely than you think," they say in unison, and Benvolio turns around from the chopping board to grin at him despite himself.

 

He returns to his riveting peppers, sneaking one into his mouth while he proceeds to think about precisely what he just said he didn't care about. "I s'pose whatever it is involves having R and J around, right?"

 

"Mmhm."

 

"Ugh, we only _just_ got rid of him."

 

"We haven't seen him for _three days_ , I'm _dying_ over here!"

 

"You do realise you speak in italics?"

 

"Everything I do is precisely calculated for maximum effect, of course I realise."

 

 

And so, they suddenly have a cat. Roll opening credits.

 

 

 

# I

 

 

 

Apparently Juli has some kind of very specific superpower that means she can sense the presence of pets.

 

Ben opens the door to her and before he can even say hi, she's craning her neck over his shoulder with beady eyes and murmuring, " _There's a cat in this household_."

 

Ben's pushed aside and she practically sprints into the living room, from which he hears a squealing five seconds later. He turns back to Romeo and makes a face.

 

"You replaced me already?" Rome pouts, handing him a badly wrapped rectangular gift and toeing his shoes off to kick in a corner like a fiend.

 

"I needed some intelligent company," Benvolio replies wryly, realising too late that it was an accidental compliment; luckily, and rather fittingly, Romeo doesn't twig this and just pads off down the hall.

 

Ben follows and waves the gift. "What's this for?"

 

"Housewarming."

 

"We moved in three years ago."

 

"Warming of the Bencutio Household," Romeo grins. He flops onto the couch in his favourite space. "I was just holding you back from your full evolution, really."

 

Mercutio appears in the doorway and Ben can't read from his face if he heard that, but decides not to find out if at all possible. "You like Tybs?" he asks, a proud mother.

 

"Tybs is the best thing that's ever happened to me," Juliet answers without looking up from the feline in question.

 

"To any of us," Mercutio agrees. "Tea?"

 

 

Benvolio lets him do his thing and waits in resigned anticipation for the big reveal.

 

It works out nicely, because halfway through dinner they hear a faint crash coming from the kitchen vicinity.

 

Mercutio tuts, swallows his mouthful of ravioli and says, "Tybalt's such an angry soul."

 

Juliet raises her eyebrows questioningly. "Uh... yeah?"

 

"I know he doesn't mean it, but he's so destructive."

 

Romeo butts in. "Wait, did I zone out? What'd I miss?"

 

Juli shrugs at him and watches Cutio put his fork down and stand.

 

"He's a piece of shit, really. But he's my piece of shit." He goes into the kitchen to presumably check the cat hasn't injured itself trying to get snacks again.

 

Juli spins around to accost Benvolio, accidentally whipping him in the face with her hair. "Was that some sort of announcement? Is he in love with my cousin?"

 

Ben flushes and hates himself for it immediately.

 

"I thought he was in love with _my_ cousin," Romeo mutters, which: _fuck off_.

 

"Tybs is short for Tybalt," he explains.

 

Juliet stares at him. "And why did you name your cat-child after my cousin? Whom you both despise, to my knowledge?"

 

"I have no idea yet," Benvolio says honestly, and then Mercutio comes back holding the talking point.

 

"Ah, Tybalt," he says, dramatic as hell as he pats his head. "The Worst, TM."

 

 

Juliet takes the cat, puts him on the floor, and hits Cutio with her napkin.

 

"Why. Why would you do this."

 

"It's a good, strong name. It needed redeeming."

 

"Was it literally just to annoy me when I visited you?"

 

"Whyever would I do that?" Mercutio asks innocently, and she hits him again.

 

Then she sighs and draws back, glances down at Tybs who had started cleaning his paws.

 

"This is the strangest manifestation of beef I've ever seen," she muses.

 

"What about that time we coerced Paris into a hot air balloon tour of the South-West so he couldn't propose to you at your birthday party?"

 

She considers this. "Okay, second strangest."

 

 

Admittedly, by about one in the morning it's kind of hilarious.

 

" _Tybalt's shitting in the cereal box again!_ "

 

" _I can't believe Tybalt licks his nether regions while sitting on me, like, how antisocial?_ "

 

_"Tybalt, please let me rest between your attacks."_

 

Even Juliet has started enjoying it, loathe to admit it as she is.

 

"Are you gonna tell him?" Ben asks her, giggling, but genuinely concerned about what's gonna happen now.

 

They're bunched up on the tiny sofa like the good old days (the good old days being 2013 to last week); Juliet is on Romeo's lap, legs resting across Benvolio and feet in Cutio's lap. Ben is squished up into the crook of Cutio's arm, but he can't say he's uncomfortable, and the man himself is cross-legged at a ninety degree angle so he has better access to the wine bottle being passed between them.

 

Tybs is currently sleeping on Ben's knees, which means none of them are allowed to move even if they wanted to.

 

"Aren't _you_ gonna tell him?" Juliet jabs Mercutio's thigh lightly, and he slaps her foot in reprimand. "Don't you have a scheme?"

 

"Why does everyone always think I'm scheming?" he pouts, but can't keep it up and his face crinkles up in laughter, and he hides it in his palm for a second; Benvolio looks down at Tybs and swallows.

 

"Uh, because you are. Constantly."

 

"I am more meme than scheme these days," he says airily, and they all collapse again.

 

" _Please_ get that on a t-shirt," Juliet says.

 

"He _has_ got a scheme though," Benvolio interjects. "I can- feel it."

 

His brain catches up to his own words a moment too late, but before he can smother them Romeo and Cutio are bellowing _"I FEEL IT IN MY FINGERS-"._ What's worse is that Ben is sandwiched between them so he gets the full blast, and when they catch onto this vulnerability they both fling their arms around him and _go fucking louder_. Luckily, he loves them both very much or he might just kill them.

 

Tybs wakes up at this intrusion and starts to sink his claws into Ben's jeans, so he extricates him from his lap and plonks him on Mercutio's, which has the unintended side effect of shutting him up.

 

He leans down and snuffles into his fur in really weird but cute way. "How can someone so adorable cause so much damage?" he mumbles in baby-talk.

 

Juliet snorts. "Asks Aunt Emillia every second of every day."

 

"It does sound a bit like you love him," Romeo points out.

 

"I did once," Cutio says off-hand, and Benvolio jolts. _What the fuck?_ "I mean, only for about a week."

 

He looks up to investigate the silence that this is greeted with. "What?"

 

"I thought you had better taste," Romeo says awkwardly. His drunky-eyes flicker to Ben's and Ben wants to hit him, hit Cutio, hit himself with a frying pan.

 

"I _do_ now," Mercutio says indignantly. "Like, I said, a week."

 

"Still a week too long," Juliet points out.

 

"What did you like about him?" Benvolio can't help but ask, pretending to himself he's doing it only so he doesn't seem tellingly quiet.

 

Cutio glances up at him. "Oh, at the time it was all about - ferocity, leather jackets, whoever threw the first punch." _So like, everything I'm not_.

 

"I can't believe you had a bad boy phase," Romeo grins despite himself. ("I can," Juliet shrugs.)

 

Mercutio grins self-deprecatingly.

 

The conversation moves on, and Benvolio is left sort of in the lurch. What did that mean, "I do now"?

 

He's too drunk for this. Maybe too sober.

 

He gets the cat back and cuddles it as his friends' voices wash over him, and that's the last thing he remembers.

 

 

 

He really doesn't understand what Mercutio's doing. This week's episode is more perplexing than amusing still, or maybe Ben's just missing something.

 

He doesn't bring up Mercutio's... thing... for the Capulet Disappointment, but he thinks about it a lot accidentally, at poignant moments like when he's emptying Tybs' litter tray.

 

After a couple of days he realises that maybe that was the idea. Cutio had such a strange way of thinking that this could mean anything: he could be trying to gross Ben out for the lols, he could be trying to bloody _open up_ to him about things he's kept secret, he could be... Christ, he could be trying to- 

 

This, Benvolio realises when he's refilling the waterbowl. He swears, and forgets what he's doing for long enough that the bowl overflows and water starts bouncing off the brimming surface and onto his shirt. This makes him swear more, and drop it, which causes a great wave to hit his midriff and soak him further, and this is what really solidifies his theory that he's living in a very tropey slice of life comedy.

 

He's attempting to pat himself dry with a tea towel when Cutio appears, summoned by the chaos.

 

"Y'ite," he asks, peering into the sink. In some kind of useless miracle, the waterbowl had landed upright and still had a decent amount of water in. Cutio scoops it out and places it on the floor with a flourish before turning back to inspect the damage.

 

"I'm getting into my pyjamas," Benvolio tells him. It's three in the afternoon, so just the right side of pathetic, he thinks.

 

Mercutio nods reasonably, and then breaks out into his fucking _glittery_ smile. "I'll make hot chocolate."

 

He skips off to the pantry to get the cocoa powder and Benvolio is left to go red in privacy.

 

It figures, really, that Cutio would be making an effort to be extra nice to him, having laid down his big hint for Ben that he categorically wasn't interested in him but still wanted to be bros.

 

Seriously, only Mercutio would conclude that this non-aggressive message could be best conveyed by them co-owning a cat together and then naming it after his very archetypal ex. Benvolio's been friendzoned by a fucking _cat_. Like, how extra.

 

 

It's a little weird to think that Cutio knows how he feels about him, after a decade of friendship, but Ben finds it pretty easy to just deal with as it turns out. It's not exactly something he can take back now, and he seems to be handling it okay anyway. (Well. Spontaneous purchasing of domestic animals aside.) So he shrugs it off and keeps on keeping on. He goes to work, he comes home, he tells Tybalt to stop licking his balls in front of him - rinse and repeat.

 

He and Mercutio have some lovely bonding moments that Cutio has dubbed "roast sessions" where they just insult Tybs in the manner of that night with Romeo and Juli, slumped on the sofa watching the late night shopping channel. He's told that Juli comes round at random times of the day (oh, to work free-lance) and croons into his fur, having apparently decided her love for Tybs is far greater than her suspicion of Mercutio and his plotting.

 

Everything is chill. Maybe a bit wonky, but chill.

 

 

That is, until the party.

 

 

 

# II

 

 

 

The Capulets always have great parties.

 

Mercutio thinks it's to make up for the lack of personality in their bloodline, with the exception of Juli of course. Romeo thinks it's an excuse for everyone to have affairs. Benvolio thinks they're just disgustingly rich and like to remind the town every now and then. According to Juliet, her dad wanted to be a wedding planner.

 

Whatever the reason (it's probably a mix of all four, to be honest), it results in a bomb-ass party twice a year, and the three of them have been going to them for near on a decade now. It was actually at one of these parties that Romeo met Juli, and for that matter where Mercutio met them both when they were fourteen and hiding under a table to eat stolen cake.

 

This year is the return of a classic: the masquerade ball.

 

Dadulet is always very meticulous about not telling anyone the theme before the invitations are sent out, but Juliet is phenomenally good at everything and this means they get a day's head start to think up designs and clear out the costume shop downtown.

 

If he does say so himself, Benvolio thinks they all look pretty damn good. The three of them all have ornate silver-trimmed masks in deep green, red and blue, and Mercutio had spent two days sewing sequins to various hems and seams and generally being in his element. It's all too impressive to be ridiculous, and they'll definitely be in the finals for Best Dressed. They have been five years in a row now. Not that it's important or anything.

 

Because they had watched too many American high school movies in their formative years, they always spend the afternoon beforehand getting ready together in the manner of a graduation prom. This didn't mean much when they all lived together, they just had something to do in the afternoon for once, but this year Romeo treks across town and shows up after lunch with some beers, and it's a Thing.

 

A somehow unanticipated side effect of this party is that Mercutio would be making more of an effort than usual to look divine. Ben tries not to stare as the guy messes his hair into a calculated disarray, and when their eyes meet for a second through the mirror and he winks, he tries not to feel personally attacked.

 

"You alright, Benny?" he asks, catching onto the face he's probably making.

 

"Food poisoning," Ben blurts out, an old favourite in the bank of pre-prepared lies stored up for just such occasions. At this point Ben thinks Cutio must be under the impression he gets food poisoning every other meal. It's probably why they eat pasta so much.

 

Mercutio spins to pout sympathetically at him, and before he can stop it he's reaching out and stroking Ben's cheek. "Feel better soon, babe. We got a party to win."

 

Benvolio miraculously remains upright. "To- win?" he chokes out. "You can't win at a party."

 

"You can," Mercutio tells him, and takes his fingers back (Ben very definitely doesn't sway forward a little after his retreating touch), "and I will."

 

"Oh no," Romeo says from the doorway. Benvolio agrees.

 

 

Juliet opens to the door with a genial smile on her face that drops when she sees that it isn't someone she has to pretend to like; only Mercutio wore his mask on the walk over, because he's alright looking like an idiot. Well, a hot idiot, but still. "Where have you _been_?" she hisses, pulling Romeo over the threshold by his lapel. "You're not allowed to be fashionably late when I'm already stuck here by myself!"

 

Romeo kisses her on the cheek as he stumbles into the hallway. "Wardrobe malfunction."

 

Mercutio glides past her and pecks her too. "Tight ladders."

 

Benvolio rolls his eyes as he kisses her and shuts the door behind them "The cat."

 

Juli makes a face and concedes.  She turns in such a way to show off the incredible _swish_ to her dress, and they head on into the fray, sliding their masks down onto their faces. Benvolio glances at Rome and sure enough, he's doing his weird moon-walk that he brings out when he's imagining them walking in slow motion. (He's still not over Benvolio's refusal to form a boyband when they were sixteen.)

 

It's still pretty early but the house is packed. It's at these parties that Benvolio remembers it's more of a mansion than a house, really. The ...ball room? dining hall? fucking throne room?... always surprises him in its size; it hadn't even seemed to get smaller as he grew up, which was saying something. It has two floors, the second level being a balcony-style surround that's reached by the fairytale steps at the end, and are great for dramatic speeches e.g. disastrous proposals (there's notably one every couple of years: Mercutio has money on Romeo's aunt tonight). There's rich curtain all around, and miscellaneous bourgeois decorations like Alan, the suit of armour, and the giant fishtank, and the statues. It's absurd. Even Juliet finds it a little odd and she lives there. Maybe it's weirder when it's empty.

 

Right now the floor is jam packed with people, and Ben recognises most of those he can see the faces of. Everyone's bopping, not really dancing yet, but milling with drinks and showing off their children. Ben takes the customary moment to appreciate being an adult now and the sheer joy of not having to be paraded.

 

"I gotta go find my dad real quick," Romeo yells over the music, and disappears into the crowd.

 

Juliet nods, but deflates a little. "You got rounds to do?" she asks the other two.

 

"If they want to talk to me I'm sure they'll find me," Mercutio replies neutrally.

 

"I can leave it a bit," Benvolio agrees. He hasn't spotted his parents yet anyway. "Not like they're going anywhere."

 

"Then let's dance," Mercutio decides.

 

 

In true Cutio style, he's the one to start the room on really _dancing_ , and soon there's a real jive going on, and the music changes to some jazz thing. Juliet's between them, which Ben is grateful for, and tries not to think about whether it was deliberate on her part. Romeo returns after a few minutes and takes Juli by the hands and they start a fast-paced jig improv. Mercutio offers him his hand to do something similar, and Ben makes an elaborate hand gesture to convey that he's going to get a drink.

 

"Good idea!" Mercutio yells back, beaming, oblivious.

 

They weave through the throng and make it to the table. There's a tray of shot glasses, and after trading a look they each pick one up, clink them and down them. It burns like hell, which shows it's the good stuff. Or is that the bad stuff? All of it's bad, really.

 

"It's gonna be a good one," Mercutio decides. "I can sense it."

 

Benvolio can also sense something, but it might just be actual food poisoning. He does another quick-fire shot and ignores Mercutio's double-take.

 

"You got any objectives?" he asks, rote, eyes surfing the crowd as he waits for the alcohol to set in, not looking for anyone in particular. He sees his and Romeo's second cousins dancing together like they're not in their mid-forties, and it horrifies him and warms his heart in equal measure.

 

"A few," Mercutio admits. He always does.

 

"Rosa not coming?"

 

"At her stepmum's."

 

"Shame."

 

It comes out rather more sarcastically than he intends. Well, that's not true, the sarcasm was fully intended but it was supposed to remain internal. Clearly it _was_ the good stuff.

 

"Yes, it is," Mercutio agrees suspiciously. "Look, are you okay, babe?"

 

Ben runs his hand down his face and sighs. "I'm fine, yeah. Sorry. Don't worry about it."

 

Cutio cocks his head, curious. "For such a fundamentally nice person, I've never understood your hatred of Rosa. She's quite lovely."

 

That's the trouble, she  _is_ lovely. The first time Ben met her she made a pun about Rene Descartes (like, who does that?) and offered him a Chewit. She'd been charming. Mercutio had certainly thought so.

 

"I don't hate her," he says. "Really, I don't."

 

"Sure, Jan." He claps Benvolio on the back, and then snakes his arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. "Seriously, is-?"

 

"Benvolio!" a voice booms, and suddenly Ben's dad is at his side, spinning him out of Cutio's grasp. He smiles wonkily, obviously already pissed, and Ben tries not to fall over under his leaning weight.

 

"Hey, dad," he says, amused. "You having a good time?"

 

"Excellent, excellent party as usual!" he slurs. "I'm looking for your mother, have you-?" and he spills his drink in an attempt to gesture to the room at large. " _Damn_."

 

Mercutio snorts and Benvolio tries to pat his collar dry with his sleeve while the man mumbles away to himself. Over his shoulder he spies his mum in a dreadful feathery headdress.

 

"Found her." He points.

 

"Fan _tastic,_ " his dad exclaims, and Ben has to laugh. He's always so emphatic when he's off his face. "I'll be off then! See you in a bit, my boy?"

 

"'Course," Ben assures. For a moment his dad looks at his now-empty glass in confusion, and then Mercutio plucks it from his hand and replaces it with a whiskey tumbler. He looks up at Cutio gratefully, and for a second he appears almost sober in his expression, which folds in on itself a little.

 

He swerves forward and grips Cutio's arm, squeezing it once, a secret affection. "You're a good lad," he says, and Ben's too out of it to realise what a Moment this actually is until it's over, and Mercutio has nodded awkwardly, the tips of his ears red, and his dad has swallowed, eyes darting a sweep of the room, and then he's gone, off into the direction of the rest of his clan.

 

Mercutio watches him go, clears his throat. Benvolio wonders if that's the first time an adult (a _real_ adult - they're still just kids really) has talked to him with an ounce of kindness in years.

 

"He likes you," he blurts out. Mercutio slides his eyes to meet his. "He- he's always liked you. He hates this."

 

Mercutio looks away again. "Well." he says, and Ben realises how stupid his attempt at comforting had been: Cutio doesn't give a shit if his dad hates it - he's nowhere near the front line.

 

 

By midnight the party's in full swing.

 

Everyone is at the very least tipsy, but mostly off their rockers; the DJ has given into the crowd and played Uptown Funk twice; someone's apparently thrown up in an antique vase.

 

Benvolio, despite the circumstances of his life, is having a good time. He's let Mercutio teach him some of the more family friendly salsa moves during Mambo Number Five, and he's sweating in his heavy costume but having too much fun to care.

 

Eventually though, it becomes unbearable, and he manages to extract himself from the group by persuading Cutio to show Juli how to twirl. He slips out the French doors and finds a space on the patio to catch his breath, gazing up at the remarkably clear night sky.

 

_Jupiter, Orion, Seven Sisters..._

 

"Montague!" someone exclaims, and honestly that could mean a third of the people here tonight but Benvolio recognises the accent instantly and turns towards it.

 

"Hamlet!" he beams, and the guy crashes into him in a drunken bear hug that hurts Ben's ribs. He giggles. "I didn't know if you were coming!"

 

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Hamlet replies, and kisses his cheek sloppily in that way he pretends is the fashion in Denmark. He pulls back and holds him at arm's length, giving him the cursory once-over. "How've you _been_?"

 

"Alright," he laughs. Like everyone else here (himself included) he's clearly smashed, but then to be fair he usually is when they see each other for some reason. Ben only then notices a figure hovering behind Hamlet; he flaps off his grip and smiles at this other guy. "God, you're so rude, Ham! Who's your friend?"

 

"Ah!" Hamlet wheels around and tugs the other guy into their conversation. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry; Ben, this is my wonderful exquisite amazing boyfriend whom I love and am terribly sorry about forgetting momentarily! I'm a little tipsy, y'know." This last part he directs in the manner of a confession to the other guy, who grins and rolls his eyes as Hamlet leans in to peck his lips in apology.

 

"Oh, I know," he says drily. From under Hamlet's arm he says, "Hey, I'm Horatio. Not sure about exquisite."

 

"Oh no, Hamlet has very good taste," Benvolio reassures him. "Nice to meet you." He thinks he remembers him from last summer, indirectly; Hamlet definitely kept going on about some boy - it was cutely pathetic.

 

"It's his first Capulet Ball," Hamlet tells Ben as he hugs Horatio to him in delight; Horatio makes a face but humours him. Ben thinks he's probably one of the more sober ones here, which is a strange way to spend your first Ball but to each their own. "He's the new kid!"

 

"I'm so sorry for everyone's behaviour, but I can't say they're any better usually," Benvolio says, getting a laugh out of Horatio, which makes both Ben and Hamlet laugh too because he's just so _cute_. Hamlet is obviously smitten, eyes shining under the low patio lighting as he looks down at Horatio, taking every gap in conversation to nuzzle into the ruffle on his costume, smiling every time he says he literally anything. It's disgusting, and Benvolio is warmed by it, happy for an old friend who's had so much in his life to be unhappy about in the past.

 

But because he's almost always thinking about one thing under the surface, it also makes him feel a little hollow, a little lonely in the face of such PDA. Something must cross his face because Hamlet pouts and interrupts himself to ask, "How's Mercutio, my dude?"

 

Benvolio has given up being surprised when people _know_ and make that connection, even though he has no recollection of telling Hamlet specifically about it. Then again, they _are_ usually drunk so memory doesn't mean anything.

 

He shrugs. "He's good. He's around inside somewhere - he always loves these parties, despite- you know."

 

Hamlet nods, but Horatio looks between them in confusion. He obviously wants to ask but is too polite, and out of some mixture of anger and tiredness about the whole thing Benvolio suddenly wants to tell him. For his own good, really.

 

Ben turns to Horatio. "Everyone here is family, but not all of them are your friend. You know the... rotund guy in tartan?"

 

"Uh, yeah, think so?"

 

"That's Mercutio's dad. He disowned him when he was twenty when he came out."

 

"Shit, that's awful," Horatio breathes.

 

"None of his family have anything to do with him now. His dad's this big businessman too, employs half the town, so no one can outright help Cutio without risking their jobs." He thinks of his own dad - taking him and Cutio to the zoo when they were fifteen and buying them ice cream at three separate kiosks; then a decade later, the furtive shoulder squeeze and the anxious eyes - and thinks about how he loves him, but how he fucking hates that he won't take that risk. Benvolio did. It wasn't even a choice.

 

(Mercutio's father was that particular type of not-on-my-patch asshole who gets away with it because “I don’t have a problem with gays as long as they have nothing to do with me". Cutio, unfortunately, didn't get the choice of opting out of having something to do with him. He could've carried on living a lie, laying low like everyone else, but that's not really his style.)

 

"He's had to fend for himself," Ben expands. He watches his breath puff into the cool air between them.

 

(He has no money. Just enough for half a rent and a Netflix subscription, really. Poverty is a vicious cycle: he can't get a job in a town that hates him, but he hasn't the funds the leave for greener pastures. Benvolio's been saving for a year and a half so one day they'll be able to go. Thank God he’s a model employee, for both their sakes.)

 

Hamlet takes his hand to get his attention. "He's got you," he says softly.

 

# III

 

 

By the time Ben goes back inside, sufficiently cooled and now a little emotional too, he's decided on a whim to take some terrible advice Hamlet gave him a couple of years ago. He's going to pull. Somehow. Someone.

 

It'd have to be someone he doesn't know, which already narrowed it down a huge amount, so really he couldn't have that high of a standard, but also preferably someone he isn't going to see again just in case it goes tits up. The lights have lowered in the hall and it’s apparently slow dancing time, not necessarily in couples yet but it's definitely headed that way. This is the true masquerade part now: everyone's faces are covered by masks in varying degrees of absurdity, adding an atmosphere of anonymity even though a lot of people were still recognisable by their… uh, _unique_ costumes. Ben sees Juliet's feathers but can't see Mercutio anywhere. Nearby he sees his prick of a father though, so he figures he's hiding.

 

He weaves through the crowd to the centre of the dancefloor and starts to sway casually to the sound, trying to look aloof whilst also scoping his options. He isn't expecting anything, to be honest, which was probably the main factor in his decision to go for it. (At this stage in his life he's a pro at pretending to attempt leaving his comfort zone.) Give it a few minutes and he can go back outside and tell Hamlet he’s a dumbass with stupid ideas. Maybe they'll play ring of fire, throwback to last summer.

 

Quite by surprise, someone comes up to him almost immediately. He's tall, wearing an elaborately etched gold mask that might be some kind of reference to Apollo that Ben's too drunk to register, to his shame. He's kind of (scratch that, very) taken aback when the guy holds out a hand for Ben to take, palm curling gracefully, hopefully, intention unmistakable. 

 

Benvolio swallows, heart hammering in his ears with the adrenaline of this gentle revolution.

 

_Is this what you want, really?_

 

The trouble is this might not be what he wanted, but it's the closest he'll get to it.

 

He takes his hand.

 

Benvolio's own mask is a half-size (because he remembers from years of enforced Halloween costumes that full face masks suffocate you within half an hour of any exercise more vigorous than ambling) so he assumes the stranger knows who he is, _aka_ isn't related to him, or knows he doesn't know who he is which is even better. Ben wonders vaguely who he came with, but his thoughts are scrambled pretty quickly when he's tugged in close and suddenly there's a hand on his waist and he's entering a lazy waltz. He feels like he's in a movie, and feels faintly ridiculous in the back of his mind, but it's just so lovely. He's spent so long denying himself this simplicity of pleasure that it's... a profound goddamn  _relief_ to do something so tame and mundane as dance with someone.

 

 

They dance for four songs, and by the end of them Benvolio is utterly blissed out, leaning into the touch with every movement, completely in sync with each other. He thinks:  _so this is what it's like._

 

As the fourth song starts to fade out and the man starts to pull away at last, he realises two things at once. The first is that he has been being Visibly Gay for half an hour, which isn't something he's ever had the guts to do before so it's kind of a big deal - for his self-esteem and future employability both, so a mixed bag of emotions he shoves away to deal with in the proverbial morning. The damage is done.

 

The second thing is that this is such a chance. Here is someone he could kiss, someone he could do something real with. He can feel the reality of the situation coming back down to crush him, how this isn't solving anything, this won't _change_ anything, but he wants to... _do_ something. Maybe just to prove to himself that he can. Maybe just to live out this romanticism for a while longer. Maybe just because it's time he started letting himself have things.

 

So he gathers all his scraps of courage and rides the wave of adrenaline into stepping forward to seal the breach made as the guy had stepped back for the end of the song. He catches his free hand and takes it to between their chests as he leans in and presses his lips to the cold of the stranger's mask.

 

It's novel, almost funny, but Ben still feels like he's in some stupid romantic period-drama so he mostly just feels butterflies at doing something so unlike himself. It wasn't his first kiss, but it had been a while. Three years, actually.

 

When he pulls back the stranger follows his mouth a little, like he's kissing back on his side, and Ben feels that ache of relief again. He can do this. He can be normal and take someone home and make them breakfast in the morning. He might even be able to love them one day.

 

"You wanna get some air?" he murmurs, their faces still close. The guy's eyes are dark and warm. Benvolio never really looks at people's eyes, not properly, but they really are beautiful. He can see what people are on about now.

 

He's confident enough that the guy will agree that he's already stepping back, tugging him by the hand towards the doors - but the stranger doesn't move and Ben bounces back again slightly like an elastic band.

 

"...No?" he asks. He realises they haven't actually spoken in all the time they danced. He had thought it was just them both being too wrapped up in the moment for grand discussion, but when the guy squeezes his hand once before dropping it and shaking his head, it hits him that perhaps it was by design.

 

"Oh," he says. His heart sinks but his mind races with the ever present overthinking that defined, ruined and occasionally (like now) rationalised his life. Maybe hooking up with people at parties is just not this dude's thing, and he only liked going so far. Maybe he didn't want to show his face because isn't out to whoever he came with, that's totally understandable, and really Ben is envious of his mask for that ( _right, yes, save the breakdown for tomorrow_ ). "That's, that's okay. It's been really nice though; you're-- well, thanks for the dances."

 

It didn't really matter anyway; not like it could've worked out in the long run.

 

The stranger raises the hand he's still holding and kisses Benvolio's knuckles - an apology? a courtesy? - and then he brushes past him and disappears into the sea of people and Ben is left feeling giddy and disappointed and elated and alone all at the same time. He sighs.

 

It kind of counts as pulling anyway. He's gonna count it. _Suck on that, Hamlet._

 

He wanders over to get try and track down the water, because it's the water time of the night. He finds Rome and Juli in a book playing Never Have I Ever by passing a single wine glass between them and giggling madly. They seem to be completely oblivious to Ben's recent foray into the world of romance, which he's pleased about, wanting to keep his secret his own for a little while longer.

 

"' _Voliooo_ ," Juliet croons when she sees him, and does grabby-hands until he's within hugging distance. "You okay, light of my life?"

 

Ben hugs her back, and Rome bundles in after a few seconds in true raging grizzly bear style. Still slightly out of it, Benvolio feels a sudden surge of love for the universe or some crap like that, and it makes him laugh at himself until they have to pull away from him so his shoulders don't knock them in the head and concuss them.

 

"Sorry, sorry, yeah, I'm. I'm great," he says, and Juli pats his cheek, smiling back at him.

 

" _Join_ ," Romeo demands, holding out the near-empty wine glass. "Never have I ever... cheated on an exam."

 

Romeo and Juliet take sips. Romeo mutters _Of course_ at Ben's mere grin, fondly but with great disgust.

 

Juliet hums thoughtfully. "Never have I ever... kissed on the first date."

 

Romeo drinks, passes to Juli, and then Ben can’t resist such an opportunity and holds his hand out for the glass. They stare at him.

 

"You've _kissed_ someone?" Juliet exclaims at the same time Romeo hisses, "You've been on a _date_?"

 

"I'm _offended_ ," Benvolio replies, not offended at all. "But actually, it, uh, it was tonight. Like five minutes ago. Sort of a date. I'm gonna count it as a date, anyway, what with my track record."

 

Juliet squeals in his face. Romeo frowns.

 

"Who was-?" he starts to ask, and then Mercutio appears at Ben’s elbow with a tray of those terrible/great shots, curls obvious even in his peripheral. He takes in the scene and says, "Sup, fucks, what's going on?"

 

Juliet falters when she sees him, evidently taking in his neutral expression and realising he had absolutely nothing to do with this breaking news about Benvolio and kissing. Ben doesn't look over at him. He almost feels caught out. He wonders if he saw.

 

"Uh, Ben got lucky," she says with classic Juliet smoothness somehow penetrating her inebriation. "He was just about to spill the deets."

 

"My, _my_ ," Mercutio says, but there's something weird and flat about his tone that makes Ben meet his eye. He looks kind of shaken, or ruffled or something, and naturally this puts Ben on high alert.

 

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks as R and J squabble over who gets which shot glasses. "Is it your dad, did he talk to you?"

 

Mercutio is wild behind the eyes for a moment. "Yeah," he answers, seeming distracted. "I'm fine, it's fine."

 

Benvolio doesn't believe him but he very much believes in the power of the stubborn person's decision to suffer in silence so he doesn't press the subject, and takes the glass Cutio offers him in a pointed move of misdirection. They do a few rounds of the game with sips of the tequila, but it quickly degenerates into knowing way too much about Romeo and Juliet's intimate lives and they switch to rating people's outfits as they writhe past.

 

"Cally always astounds me with her terrible eye for colour," Juliet shakes her head gravely. "Orange and blue? Look at a colour wheel, woman."

 

"Isn't she colour blind?" Romeo asks as the aunt in question bobs out of sight.

 

"That's Cassie," Juli says, and points to a woman in the gallery. "That's what I don't get; Cass has great style. It’s a damn phenomenom. Phemononom. Phonomom."

 

Ben snorts into his drink and glances at Mercutio to exchange a grin, but he isn't looking. He's still acting strange, just staring off into space, something hard and distant about his gaze. His leg is bouncing.

 

"Julien’s gone above and beyond this year," Romeo continues on his other side. "Bells! Incredible."

 

"Mont has bells too, although I couldn't tell where. He just sort of generally... jingled."

 

"I still can't believe someone named their kid Monty Montague. Like, what kind of person does that to a baby?"

 

"I'm gonna name all our children Montgomery."

 

"You wouldn't _dare_."

 

Ben smiles at his friends' shit-talking and clinks his glass against Mercutio's in a moment of inspiration to pull the guy from his thoughts.

 

"Here's to life, the universe and everything," he toasts. Mercutio startles and looks at their touching glasses in confusion.

 

"What's so good about everything?" he mumbles after a second, and Ben latches onto this.

 

"Pistachio ice cream! Tax refunds! The NHS! The world is full of beautiful things, my friend," he reels off. Mercutio doesn't look convinced. Ben swallows. "Four hours ago you were on top of the world, Cutio, what's up? Tell me."

 

Mercutio blinks rapidly. "I. Can't."

 

"You don't have to- If there's anything-"

 

"It's fine," Mercutio cuts him off. "Nothing a drink can't fix."

 

"Should you really be drinking right now?"

 

"A funny quirk of human nature, that: the worse you feel, the more destructive you become." It's almost like he's back with them, a fleeting visit from his usual pretentious charm, but the sentence ends and he closes back in on himself, glass limp in his hand again.

 

"Okay," Benvolio says gently. "But you know you can always talk to me, right?"

 

"Of course I know that," Mercutio dismisses, sounding... _frustrated_. Ben gives up trying to interpret and resigns himself to a passive supporting role.

 

He's just about to turn to Rome and ask him who he reckons based on wardrobe choices absolutely forgot about the party until two hours before it started, when Juli spins on her heel to huddle them into the wall, making intricate eyebrow signals.

 

"...You what?" Rome asks.

 

" _Tybalt_ ," she hisses.

 

Mercutio goes rigid at his side and Ben remembers with a start the whole fucking ordeal of Tybs and the grand mystery scheme or whatever. 

 

 _My life is a cosmic punchline_ , he thinks, and then Tybalt's stupid hair swims into view behind Juli.

 

# IV

 

"Cuz!" he swings her around and punches her shoulder lightly. Ben is always surprised by how much he seems like a nice person when he's talking to Juliet. She has that effect on people. "How's the boxing going? Dad said you're doing matches now."

 

"I could knock you out cold," she replies coolly, before her face breaks into a grin to match his and she punches his shoulder back equally lightly. "How's the marathon training?"

 

"I don't even pant going up stairs any more, it's a milestone of human achievement."

 

 _They're literally bonding over sports,_ Benvolio thinks in disbelief. " _Straights_ ," he mutters into his glass before he can help himself, and Mercutio huffs out an unexpected laugh.

 

It's at this point that Tybalt notices them, or decides to acknowledge their existences or whatever. "Oh... Hello, you two." Ben can _hear_ the ellipsis, for fuck's sake.

 

"Hey, fuckhead," Mercutio greets him amiably, apparently having perked up at the whiff of drama. Benvolio is almost relieved when he's suddenly slammed with the memory of _It sounds a bit like you love him; I did once_.

 

Tybalt death-glares. Cutio grins in pure glee. Ben downs the rest of his drink and wonders how the hell he didn't see it before.

 

There's a moment of awkward silence between them all, emphasised by the music and jostling from outside their little circle.

 

"Uh - Cutio," Romeo says pointedly. "Didn't you have- something? To... say? Do?"

 

Bless him, he's clearly trying to help a bro out, but it's exactly how Mercutio wouldn't want to put his scheme into action -- he likes to be the puppeteer. 

 

They're all too wankered to care for suave though apparently, and Mercutio snaps his fingers like he just remembered his entire reasoning for everything he's done the last few weeks. He's a bit slow on it however, and it takes three tries for any actual snap to happen while he looks on dolefully.

 

"Yes," he answers, addressing a confused Tybalt before realising his mistake and turning to Rome. "Yes." He turns a couple of inches more as if to repeat it to Juliet too but he just stares at her like he's trying to communicate something. His eyes flick to Ben's too, just for a second, and then he's wheeling round to Tybalt again. "Right."

 

And... nothing.

 

".... C'mon, dude," Juli nudges. "The anticipation's been killing me."

 

"What's _happening_?" Tybalt asks her, but she just shushes him and gestures for Mercutio to say his piece.

 

Ben touches his arm and finds it shaking slightly, like he's shivering. "You okay?"

 

It's like he's got stage fright or something ridiculously out of character like that. He appears to be wilting under their expectant gaze, and all at once he looks so small.

 

"Here's the thing," he says, and pauses _yet fucking again_ , but before anyone can whack him he's blurting, "I may or may not have not have been bullshitting my way through my whole life and not come up a grand finale?"

 

"What," Juli deadpans.

 

"…Sike?" Cutio suggests, wringing his hands.

 

"Dude, seriously, are you alright?" Romeo's asking. "You look kinda ill."

 

"I'm-" he starts to protest.

 

"Don't say you're fine, you nut," Ben interrupts. "You're _green_."

 

" _Do_ say you're gonna do a dance number," Juliet chimes in. "I've totally been expecting a dance number."

 

"Do _not_ , for the love of God," Tybalt exclaims.

 

" _Cats The Musical!_ " Romeo and Juliet yell simultaneously.

 

" _FINE!"_ Mercutio yells back, flinging his arms up. _"I'M NOT OKAY!_ "

 

Juliet's drunken cheer drops off her face instantly and she steps towards him, hand on his arm. Everyone else is sort of stunned into inaction. Mercutio is always okay. That's what he's tried very hard to convey over the years, anyway.

 

"What's wrong?" she asks softly. He bites his lip; Ben thinks for an awful moment he's going to cry, and it slices through Ben like a knife. "You can tell us, Cutio. We're your best friends in the world. And Tybalt."

 

Mercutio seems to brace himself, shoulders tensing at Ben's side. A Maroon 5 song starts playing. In the middle of the room, someone screams excitedly and a fountain of spilt champagne makes an arc in the air above them all.

 

"Ben kissed me," Mercutio says.

 

 

It’s a weird thing, dissociation. It’s kind of like one of those out of body experiences you learn about in school where people claim they watched themselves have surgeries or that they met God and he told them to fuck off back to the earthly realm for a few more years. For Benvolio it’s like a sudden change in POV in a video game – the room stretches backwards, into him, and for a dizzy second it seems like he’s looking through a telescope. It’s weird, and informative. It doesn’t happen often to him but there’s a pattern to it: big moments, reveals. It signifies significance. His grandmother’s death, his university acceptance letter, a 4.12am revelation on page four of Google.

 

And now this.

 

He comes back to himself slowly, watching his friends rush back to normal proportions in his eye, the room swirling in and out of focus. In a detached way his mind provides snapshot evidence, the square nails, the freckled thumb, the damn eyes that Ben had spent years making a point of not memorising.

 

“You… were Apollo?” he asks, voice faint like it was underwater.

 

Cutio nods minutely, once, eyes closed.

 

“You got someone to switch costumes with you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“To mess with me?”

 

 _And how that backfired_.

 

Silence. They all wait, holding the breath of the universe. Mercutio opens his eyes.

 

“I was trying to-“

 

“ _Ladies, gentlemen and distinguished guests!”_ A voice booms. “Your attention, if I may!”

 

Mercutio’s mouth hangs open in an almost-something, and his eyes are wide as he stares helplessly back at Ben like his one and only chance to say whatever he was going to say had been ripped from his hands.

 

It’s Julien, leaning down from the gallery and only barely missing spilling wine on several of his colleagues below. “As usual, my dearest friends, you all look exquisite,” he gushes, and room erupts with slurry cheering. “To another year!” More cheering; Ben’s whole brain winces. “I’ll now pass the baton to the man himself, I need a top-up,” he says cheerily as the dregs of his drink disappear into the ether and spatter the crowd. Juliet's dad takes his place on the balcony and the room settles in for his customary speech, which is held in the same regard as the Queen’s Christmas speech around here, if the queen wore tassels.

 

Benvolio and Mercutio don’t break eye contact during this brief kerfuffle, like their conversation had been put on pause, and while Mr C goes through the gratitudes Ben feels the jigsaw of whatever the fuck this has all been slotting together piece by piece in his one sober, fully-functioning braincell, Mercutio’s wide eyes boring into him.

 

Switching costumes to dance with him in secret; being weird after he unexpectedly kissed him; _I do now_. All the drama around the name of the cat and he’d missed the completely obvious – _getting a cat together_.

 

The conclusion was impossible.

 

And yet it was there.

 

 _I wasn’t friendzoned by a cat_ , he realises, just as another voice interrupts the scene and startles Ben into looking away, at Romeo’s aunt at the top of the fairytale staircase in a meringue dress.

 

“Okay, Frankie, shut up for a second,” she directs at Juli’s dad, stumbling slightly in her heels and giggling. Mr C rolls his eyes at her, but fondly, because everyone loves Delilah. She appears to be… rummaging in her dress for something, all while keeping hold of the bottle in her other hand, which deserves some credit Ben thinks hysterically. “Now, I was gonna do this in a more less-twazzocked state but the mood hit me, and I’ve been carrying around this thing for a week so—“ and she produces a little square box from her cleavage and fumbles to open it, tongue out in concentration. The clasp clicks free and she laughs, descending a step towards the crowd at the bottom and her eyes finding who she was searching for. “May, love of my life, marry me?” she grins, and a woman in an equally absurd ball gown leaps from the crowd to knock her over.

 

“Of course I will, you idiot!” May screeches, and then the room is bright with clapping and whistling and the DJ puts on an Ed Sheeran song and no one seems remotely bothered by the homosexuality and Ben turns to Mercutio and grabs his face and kisses him.

 

The hands that come to his waist are the same, and the up-down feeling comes back, and he can hear Romeo shouting “Bloody hell, Ben!” but all he gives a shit about is Mercutio’s mouth on his own and the fact that he’d concluded right, _bloody hell, bloody fucking hell, Ben._

 

The noise levels bubble down to normal and they pull apart, shallow-breathed; Cutio smiles at him sheepishly, fingers in the hair behind Ben’s ears. “Christ,” he whispers, and Benvolio huffs out a laugh as he rests their foreheads together.

 

“Hang the fuck on,” someone says, someone loud and close - _angry_. They turn to see Mercutio’s dad staring at them, red in the face, and Ben feels his heart drop. He clutches Cutio harder, too far in now to even think about trying to salvage this, _fuck self-preservation, keep him safe_. “Why is no one else appalled by these turns of events? I’m ashamed of all of you! This is _disgusting_.”

 

The room falls apocalyptically silent. Ed Sheeran croons on quietly. Benvolio doesn’t have a single thought in that long moment, just blank static.

 

On the palatial stairs, Delilah spins from her fiancée’s embrace to throw her arms up at him, wine in one hand and May’s hand in the other, and yells in exasperation, “For God’s sake, Harry _: we’re all gay here.”_

 

Benvolio’s parents come over for dinner on Sunday night.

 

Ben can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve come to the apartment rather than him going to theirs, and it’s pleasantly jarring to see his dad’s ratty sandals and mum’s flats lined up next to his brogues and Mercutio’s flipflops.

 

He and his mum put together a salad while his dad and Cutio disappear into the living room to talk. He’s been in the offices all weekend, trying to juggle all the millions of things that have exploded into urgency after the fiasco at the ball. The town had effectively staged a coup on Mercutio’s father and forced him to resign by popular vote, which is a rather fairytale ending that Ben couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Well, he can’t wrap his head around any of this really, but that most of all. Instead of living in a town that hates him, Cutio is, overnight, living in a town that has been on his side the whole time.

 

Through the doorway, Ben sees his dad pull Mercutio into a teary hug, their first hug in years, and Mercutio clings to him and doesn’t let go.

 

“You’re happy, baby?” his mum asks him, the softness in her voice juxtaposing the slightly alarming knife in her hand as she pauses chopping iceberg lettuce to search his face.

 

Ben looks up at her and smiles hopelessly. “Yeah, mum,” he says. His voice is a little choked up, and he laughs at himself, running a hand through his hair, and his mum leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

 

“Then I’m happy,” she whispers, and Ben will _not_ cry while making a salad, not while he’s still in his twenties.

 

Over her shoulder, he sees Tybs pad into the kitchen and make a beeline for the treat cupboard. He leaps onto the bin so he can reach the countertop, but miscalculates and lands oddly on the lid so that he falls straight into the trash.

 

 _Yeah_ , he thinks as he snorts and goes to scoop his squawking little body out _,_ _I’m happy_.

 


End file.
